Little Lion Man

It wasn't their stares that finally got to him. It wasn't that he was resigning - Kallie swore it was temporary, swore that the moment he was his own age again, he could come back - it was the fact that those he had worked so hard to be good for, those he had- had-

"Look at him." the whisper carried from the Auror meeting room where he'd made his speech, said some words about stepping down for a while, just to raise his kid, you know, the stuff. They had barely heard a word out of his mouth, he knew. They were too busy looking down at him, smirking behind their hands at how- "he looks his age now, doesn't he?"

Even Deedee. She'd only made things worse by giving him the worst fucking pitying look he had ever seen on a human face.

If only Kallie had listened. He could very well continue his job as he was (seventeen was bloody legal for Merlin's sake!), he still had the mind of a thirty some year old man, he could have-

He could have finally done something right.

But she could barely look at him either.

He'd come to collect his things.

His eyes swept the office, noting the things that were out of place, the things he had carelessly thrown aside to come to Sacha's 'aid'. Figures, he'd screwed that one up too. Couldn't even help his own bloody best fri-

The crash of breaking glass broke him out of his reverie, the smear of days old alcohol across the wall the only indication of what had occurred. The young wolf paused, looking down at his hand for a split second before he was behind the bar, throwing anything he could find, the sound of shattering glass satisfying in a way that didn't make much sense.

Eventually, even his completely stocked bar was bare, and he was left with nothing but the shattered, jagged remains of what he'd spent so long to become.

With a strangled sound, he slid to the ground behind the bar, bracing his back against the wall and clapping a hand over his mouth.

He didn't want anyone to hear his sobs.

There should have been a level of shame at how easily Vera got into the ministry. Oh, sure, Brock could pull strings when he wanted her there, but more often then not Vera enjoyed showing up when he didn't want her to be - or at the very least didn't know she was coming.

She had a suspicion this would be a case of the former; but it didn't matter what he wanted, it was about what he needed. And with what she knew was going down he'd need someone to be there for him - although it didn't have to be her, she knew that it would be. It always was, ever since she had met him, he'd been assigned to be there for her, she had to return the favour.

Vera simply couldn't have it any other way.

The already brisk pace she was walking down the hall doubled as she walked close enough to hear the crashes - the last of the booze being shattered around the room. By the time she pulled open the door to the office, not giving a damn about anyone that may have been milling around, she was met by the eerie silence that was the death of the bar, only the stains of liquid and shrapnel of glass hints of the murder that had gone one.

Of course, the room wasn't really silent, for anyone else perhaps, but for Vera, with the add of her enhanced sense she heard each and every muffled breath for what it was. And each sob made her want to cry herself.

"What did you..." Vera frowned at the ground, glad that for once she was wearing somewhat sensible shoes - not sneakers, or god forbid something as dull as pumps - but they did enclose her entire foot, she picked her way across the war zone until she was around the bar and staring that the boy, man... the manboy. "Brock..."

There was pain, not pity in the name; pain for them both, watching him like this was causing her just as much pain as he was feeling, maybe more. She was at a loss of what to say, how to make things better.

Glancing down at the floor, hoping to find a spot to settle herself down that he hadn't covered in glass, eyes imploring as she settled a hand on him, she gave a half smile, eyes as sad as anything, "What did the bar ever do to you?"

No.

She wasn't... She couldn't be...

He shied away from her voice, his sobs choking him as his eyes widened, glancing over at the sound of her shoes across the floor.

"Vol- Volchit-" He swiped his sleeve across his cheeks, turning away from her. "No- don't-" A broken sort of sound flew from his throat, almost like a whimper, if he was capable of making such a pathetic excuse for a sound. "Just-"

He curled away from her, pulling his knees to his chest and hiding his face in them. "No." He whimpered. "No- don't- don't look- I've-"

"I've screwed everything up again-"

Was this what it was like to be a child again? To be an adult trapped in a world that they had left behind? Or was it just something else that was pushing down on the being beside her, something far more complex than just the current situation. He was so small, fragile really; he was as broken as the glass around them, he was the each and every glass that he had actively shattered, just like something had shattered him.

Once again check the space before she slid into it, Vera ignored everyone of his stuttered demands for her to leave, and instead slide herself right beside him, wrapping an arm around him to drag him towards her, and then rested her head on his shoulder. "What do you think I'm going to see if I stay Brock? Really - I've seen worse, been worse. We got out of those spots, you think this is going to keep us down."

She hummed to herself, not pushing that point any further for the moment, and instead looking at the wreckage that was around them. She supposed, she should be more concerned about the physical age of the boy beside her, but there was no way that she could separate him by age.

He was just Brock; any face, age, or mood, she'd know it was Brock, and that was all she really needed to know.

"I don't know what have we screwed up this time but I have to say besides the waste of a rather well stalked bar, I don't see anything screwed up." Letting out a sigh she rested her head on his shoulder, and closed her eyes. Whether he answered or not she didn't care. So long as she was there to offer some comfort, so long as she knew she would be a comfort, Vera was content to sit and wait.

She could sit there forever if that was what she wanted. It was what she was there to do - comfort her friend.